Fairy Dust is A Hell of A Drug

When Dean and Cas had rolled into town at the start of the week it was on the back of a news article detailing the death of a happily married teacher, brutally murdered by one of his students in what appeared to be a drug-fuelled rage. Manic, frenzied declarations of obsessive love written around the man's corpse in his own blood. What had really caught their attention was that after killing her teacher the obsessed teen had killed herself, and that despite the claims of her murder suicide being a result of drug use, the autopsy report that Dean looked up showed no signs of drugs in her system.

Since their arrival there had been four other 'incidents' in a similar vein. A jealous husband killed his wife and her lover, using her blood to declare his unending devotion despite her infidelity, before ending his own life. A woman murdered her ex-husband, his new boyfriend barely escaping before she took the gun to her own head, screaming insults at him as he retreated before pulling the trigger. She at least hadn't left behind weird and creepy obsessive messages, seemingly more outraged that one of her targets had escaped than she was concerned with writing her sweet nothings. The other two were more of the same, an unrequited love, unreciprocated, resulting in the murder of the object of unrequited affection, as well as that person's lover or spouse if they had one who happened to be present.

"I dunno, man; it still feels witchy." Dean had been pacing the motel room for the better part of an hour, the latest police report in his hand and continually glancing at the wall of clippings and connections they had made.

"It does," Cas agreed from where he was sitting in an armchair, watching Dean pace, "but none of the victims, or killers for that matter, have had a hex bag on them or had anything cursed or 'witchy' on them or at their homes. It seems unusual."

It was unusual, and it was driving them both mad. With a sigh Dean finally stopped pacing and instead collapsed onto his bed with a frustrated groan, "What do we do?"

Castiel sighed from his place across the room, his eyes now firmly on their evidence wall. The pattern of the attacks seemed so consistent at first: one each day. But in the seven days since their arrival three days had been missed. Tuesday, Wednesday, and Sunday. It was bothering them both. "What if the attacker didn't miss any days, after all?"

"What?" Dean turned his head from where he lay to look at the angel with confusion.

"What if on the gap days there were attacks but the people weren't killed. What if they somehow survived?"

Dean sat up, his eyes not moving from Castiel as his mind ticked over the idea. It seemed unlikely. Given the ferocity of the attacks and the gore that went with them it just didn't seem possible. The only survivor that there'd been so far in their investigation had been victim number three's new boyfriend, Jackson; and he hadn't really been much help. But without any other leads to go on, Dean figured they might as well see if they could find any other survival stories.

They went over all their information again, all their leads and all their hunches and followed up on any tiny scraps of ideas that they had; and at 2 in the afternoon they finally caught a break. Another teacher at the same private girls school that the first victim had worked at seemed cagey on the phone when they followed up with him, but when they'd talked to him when they'd first arrived he'd been open and easy to talk to.

Thinking it was suspicious Dean changed into his suit and they donned the FBI personas they'd adopted for the trip and headed over to the private school where the man worked to speak with him in person.

The school was a large, red brick, fancy monstrosity that no doubt cost more per year than Dean would ever see in his life. It made the hunter uncomfortable, and he'd mentioned as such to Cas the first time they'd walked in to do interviews. This time he was more confident, the both of them walking through the gates with purpose towards their target's office.